


Weird Space Things

by Silvermoonphantom



Category: Danny Phantom, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Danny Phantom Crossover, Danny is OP, Force Nonsense, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvermoonphantom/pseuds/Silvermoonphantom
Summary: Force-ghosts are one thing.This is something entirely different.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Phantom doesn’t know what Hyperspace is called.  
> In this fic, Phantom and Danny are separate beings sharing a body.

Phantom wakes up, and sees stars. 

Not the flashing lights of a concussion blooming inside between retina and cornea, but true stars, all around him. 

Distant, swirling carpets of white and red and blue. A thousand-million shining grains of sand cast up to hang in ribbons in the darkness. 

For a moment, he feels fear. Old memories, old desperation. 

His human stirs in the back of his mind, sleepily wondering. 

The fear evaporates. 

He blinks it away. 

He doesn’t know the time that passed between, but when he opens his eyes again, stars are blotted. A void reflecting in hazy smears against his green eyes. 

He is too distant, and his human’s mind is too quiet to be properly appreciative of the ship approaching sideways through dimensional space. A craft slipping through the spaces between light and atoms. 

There is nothing but serene understanding as he glides forward and  _ slips _ into the “self” of a ship that stretches from here to a thousand miles away, tucked neatly into spaces it ought not fit into. 

And now they fit together. 

Phantom does not know the reason for alarms blaring inside the ship, the electronics shorting with leaping sparks, or the cameras frantically swiveling in toward his floating form. He can only vaguely sense the beings now reviewing those fuzzy, flickering angles. 

He does find, through the layers of metal and wiring and strange materials he’s never phased through before, that there are some little cupboards slotted into the walls of the ship. Perfectly him-sized, and a few of them empty. His human would find that cozy. There was air, even. 

Much better than the void of space, for the two of them.

Warm for the first time since he opened them, Phantom closes his eyes once more.

He relishes the slow-bubbling joy as his half-sleeping human begins to process the impossible sights.

Phantom lets the glow fade from their skin and lets the body begin to breathe the artificial atmosphere. 

A klaxon jerks him back to unhappy awarenwss with all the abruptness of a slap to the head. His human grumbles at the noise in their sensitive ears, and Phantom blazes his energy brightly once more. 

Perhaps another hideaway would be better. 

Somewhere quieter. 

He phases through the wall again, squints against the noise. 

Something clanks loudly against the floor, audible even over the blaring alarms and flashing lights. 

He turns, and a bipedal being - not a human, surely, he knows how humans can be colored - stares at him with wide eyes and frozen muscles. 

“Kriff.” 

He hears it whisper, and sees it take a trembling, half-shuffled step backward. 

It repeats the word softly as it continues to back away, fumbling at the buttons on the wall. 

A door slides open behind them. 

He wonders if its skin is meant to be that shade of gray. It seemed much brighter a few moments ago. 

The door hisses shut. 

Finally, the alarms click off. 

He can hear the faint clank of boots striking metal flooring, and feels his human’s curiosity prickle. Amiable to satisfying whims, Phantom glides through the door, absently following the rushed sound of boots on metal. 

There is a twist in the halls and suddenly he cannot discern which way the being ran off to. There is a moment of disappointment, but his human directs them down a path at random. 

There, they find a wide room with large crates tucked to each side. The place echoes with fresh emptiness, and his human wonders where all the people have gone. 

Phantom reaches out and finds them - fear radiating in trembling pulses from the other side of the ship. 

A long time ago, in another life, he may have found that emotion enticing.

Now, it less than useless. Troublesome for his human, and too much like rotten scraps for him to grab on to. 

—-

* * *

On the bridge of a ship only ever intended to be an exploration vessel, two technicians clustered around their harried pilot as she repeated her plea into the transcoder.

“Emergency assistance needed. Boarded and under attack. If there are any Jedi that can hear this… I really hope you can answer.” 

They dropped out of hyperspace as close to a Lane intersection as their suddenly malfunctioning ship would allow, praying their message would reach the right ears. 

The Torgruta pilot never took her eyes off the cams screen, tracking that  _ thing _ as it explored her ship. She dared not speak its name, afraid even of thinking too hard in its direction. 

As if sensing her building fear, it turned to face the camera, eyes blazing through the suddenly staticky screen. It was gone a moment later, flickering through a wall. 

Old stories passed easily between pilots who explored deep space. From creatures that lived in astro-belts that grew to the size of moons off a steady diet of cocky smugglers trying to shave a few parsecs off their route, to beings whose accounts were often only found in the frantic recordings a vanished crew left behind. 

Her mentor never let her laugh off the stranger ones. 

Her Mirialan mechanic still hadn’t recovered his normally bright yellow pallor, hands shaking as he tried to rewire something to send their broadcast signal as far as possible.

She didn’t blame him for the shakiness. 

It had seen him first, after all. 

Wild white hair that floated as if underwater, bipedal form hovering off the ground. It moved like gravity and solid matter were only a suggestion, shivering in and out of sight. A cold aura of fear. 

He didn’t describe the claws or toothy mouth, but it was probably smart to avoid getting a closer look. 

The stories agreed  _ that thing  _ would target the first victim it saw, draining them of emotion and life. Incorporeal and immune to physical attacks. They could manifest in a ship moving through hyperspace, and normally only appeared on ships moving through the deepest parts of unexplored space. 

What one was doing so close to the main hyperlanes, she had no idea. 

It didn’t really matter, did it? 

It was here. 

Hope bloomed brightly when a message came back through their comm. 

“This is Commander Cody, of the  _ Negotiator _ , approaching your position. What can we expect?”

She forced a shaky smile and leaned over to the comm.

“This is Pilot Duteem Sarl, of the  _ Flyaway _ . We have been boarded by a  _[starweird](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Starweird%20). _ ”

The long silence spoke volumes. Finally, a new voice crackled to life, with an inner-core accent. 

“This is Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi. We hear your call, and are en-route.”

\---

* * *

  
A long time ago he, like of all his kind, existed in the hungry void between places. Starving for emotion that would sustain him, sucking it from scraps that slithered into their world through the cracks that connected them to others. 

He would have hunted the fearful beings on this ship, made them bleed terror, devoured it with all the grace of a starving wolf. Drained them of fear until their life fled from it. 

These beings did not know that he had found a host that suited him perfectly. That he’d slipped into the spaces between energy and atoms, and  _ soaked _ in the freely given emotions of his human child.

What was a few drops of fear, when he had the complex  _ river  _ of emotions created with every thought, bond, decision, and wondering interaction with the world. If terror was a hearty meal, the boy had turned him into a lazy glutton, with the constant stream to nibble as he wished. 

In return, he offered his ghostly existence, to keep them both safe. It was practically altruistic. 

After all; Phantom has no wish to return to the starving, empty spaces between stars. 


	2. Bad Vibes

Allowing Phantom to take over - it was a strange experience. 

Danny let himself drift. Half-asleep, curious. Vaguely aware of what was going on in fleeting snatches. It reminded him of watching the world pass while dozing against a bus window. 

Someone else was driving - he just had to wait it out. 

Their agreement was formed in impressions and the push-pull of arguments made up of desires instead of logic. After all, Phantom couldn’t really _talk._

The sense-of-self that made up his ghost half understood the idea of death. Of nonexistence, and the desire to avoid that.

It was a bit like riding shotgun with a cat. 

Phantom, like cats, clearly knew what it wanted. 

Also like cats, he wasn’t the best at interpreting his desires through human mannerisms. He was getting better at it, and Danny was getting the hang of reading the flashes of _frustration-impatience-excitement_ and _thrill-fear-regret._ The firefly flickers of pure tangled emotion that made up the ghost’s default communication. Images layered with feeling, concepts and philosophies captured in a pulse of ‘ _this’_ that both felt exactly equivalent, and explained nothing at all. 

Likewise, the ghost seemed to get irritated at their communication barrier, sulking at times when something didn’t translate effectively. 

That wasn’t the main issue right now, of course. 

The last thing Danny clearly remembered before being shunted ( _condensed-quiet-followme-protection)_ down into his own thoughts, was stumbling into a ghostly lair that had all the warning signs a reasonable person ought to have heeded. 

Did Danny heed them? 

Of course not. 

He remembered _anger-burning-devouring_ and **_d e s o l a t e - h a t r e d_**

A thrum so deep inside him that his bones felt like they’d shake apart. Hot and electric, with yellow eyes and gaping jaws screaming. An Overwhelming Rage. 

Then, Phantom surged forward. 

The storm in his head was smothered by cool wind and ice. Something inside him stung, like the flood of emotion had actually singed some part of him, and Phantom’s cold burned like running a blistering hand under tap water. 

He blinked slowly through the snippets he could snag out of Phantom’s eyes. Plasma and shields against crackling lightning. Burning hatred against cold hunger.

Blazing green indifferent under a sickly yellow glare. 

Danny remembered something tearing. Someone howling. It might have been Phantom. 

The feeling of _\- nothingness -_ and Phantom’s jerk of _terror-alone-desperate-starvation._ Danny tried to reach out to soothe it, the same way Phantom had soothed the burning anger that had boiled through him. 

He remembered seeing stars - vast constellations. Amazement.

Remembered feeling reassurance. 

Phantom’s wordless determination.   
Wonderment - was that a ship? 

Exhaustion. 

Then, Danny felt himself settle back into his aching body. Felt his ears flinch minutely as he registered blaring alarms. Lifted again, as Phantom toured them through the odd metal hallways, past technology that felt both familiar and utterly foreign. (Was this a ship?)

_Curiosity-where?_ He tried to ask in the simple emotional pantomiming they’d managed to coordinate, but Phantom seemed preoccupied with his own senses, on some sort of mission that Danny couldn’t make heads or tails of in his groggy state. 

Finally, when the alarms sputtered out and the lights flickered off, Phantom fell back and let Danny take the reins once more.

Surrounded by some sort of cushioned walls, Danny mentally shooed Phantom away when their surroundings shuddered and the ghost vibrated with worry.  
It was dark, he was tired, and he’d slept through his father’s driving before. A couple bumps wouldn't bother him. 

* * *

_The Flyaway_ was a small ship - a sleek little vessel meant for exploring nebulas and asteroid belts. Agile enough to slip between gravity wells and swirling clouds of stone, and easily small enough to fit into the _Negotiator_ ’s hanger bay. It lurched and stumbled in between a few stout rows of clone troopers and their steadily aimed blasters. 

Obi-Wan had never encountered a starweird before - few had. He wouldn’t even recognize the name, if not for a passing interest in the Great Galactic War, and one of its heroes, Jedi Master Wyellett. He remembered as a padawan, reading a description of the Starweird Queen that Master Wyelett saved to the archives. He remembered his skin prickling at the description alone. 

Now, with one this close - he knew the account hadn’t been exaggerated. Something dark brushed against the edges of his senses, teasing emptiness, hunger, then withdrawing. He’d put a request in for intel, for backup, sent it to Coruscant before approaching the downed ship, but he doubted anyone could send him a briefer on Starweirds before he actually encountered the thing. At least they’d know his coordinates. 

His vague, fuzzy recollection of the creatures emphasized that they were made of fear and darkness - something his own senses readily agreed on. Senselessly violent, the records said, with a special hatred for Jedi.  
It didn’t feel like the Dark Side, from where he stood.  
The presence in the Force felt more like someone had torn a small chunk out of the universe, leaving a black gap behind. 

He watched _The Flyaway_ settle down onto the landing strip, lights flickering as if it was caught in an electromagnetic storm. Even the external emergency flashers sputtered and died, gravity dampeners groaning and scraping as the ship settled roughly against the metal floor. 

Standing around him in matching white armor and perfectly unique Force signatures, his men took careful aim at the exits of the ship, and a small team crept forward with a cutting torch. 

They backpedaled when something crashed inside the ship. 

Obi-Wan tensed in preparation. The handle of his sabre hummed, the Kyber crystals inside already buzzing with his unease. 

Something thumped against the inside of the hatch doors. 

Once. 

Twice. 

A seal hissed, and the next blow creaked the hatch door open. 

Obi-Wan pulled the Force in around him, let the density blanket over his shoulders. He opened himself, willing and waiting for the little nudges of _intent_ that could help him dive away from an attack. 

The back hatch of _The Flyaway_ creaked open, and a bright yellow Mirialan arm stuck out to wave frantically 

“Help us out!” someone called, and the clones were quick to assist. 

Their combined weight was able to force the hatch open just enough for the rest of the crew to squeeze out, faces pale and hands shaking. 

“How many dead?” someone asked.

“None.” Captain Duteem Sarl looked haunted, and none of the crew would stop their anxious press against the clones - away, away from the little ship, as far as the walls would let them. 

The shadows through the sealed hatch seemed to laugh, darker and colder than a lived-in hull had the right to be. Dread settled inside the belly of that ship, anticipatory. 

Obi-Wan moved through the crowd of troopers, feeling them part around him. Once he was clear of them, and _The Flyaway_ ’s sliver of an entrance loomed up over him, Obi-Wan lit his saber. The blue light cast buzzing shadows that did little to reassure him. The cutting-torch team attacked the hatch’s hinges, sliding the door down on the last of its hydraulics as Obi-Wan readied to spring into action. 

The ramp thunked to the floor. 

He took a step onto it. 

The cold seemed to swirl around his ankles, prod at his shields, tease goosebumps over his skin. He tried to reach out with the force, to ask _what_ and _where_ and _how to be safe_ , but everything felt... muffled. Or, distant. 

Another step. 

The pressure was unlike any Force user he could recall against his mental barriers. It wasn’t a push - there was no battle, no hammering of defenses.

Deeper into the ship, with a small group of clones on his heels, visors scanning every shadow that his Force senses couldn’t penetrate. He felt himself tuck in out of instinct, pulling his senses inward to prevent the steady drain of _warmth._ Like a leak in the hull of a ship, bleeding life out into the void of space.  
The Force was quiet in his head.   
Strangled. 

The trooper next to him suddenly jerked, blaster twitching upward. The man swore loud enough to be heard past his helmet, and the other troopers honed in on his point with trained precision. 

Obi-Wan realized belatedly that he’d numbed himself, reactions more sluggish than they ought to be. He couldn’t sense the men’s presence, their startle, their churning thoughts.

It was like he’d found himself standing out on the icy glacier-cliffs of Illum, helplessly enduring a sheer chill of air sucking heat out from him. 

He understood, finally, why his shields weren’t being pushed against. 

It wasn’t an attack. 

It was just an endless inhale. 

A cold river dragging in toward a steady, yawning void. He didn’t have to fight against it, didn’t have to submit, to be taken in. It wasn’t vengeful. Wasn’t aggressive. It was inevitable. All he needed to do, was-

“-nder. Commander!” 

Obi-Wan blinked, the blue blade of his saber reflecting cold stripes down the visors of his men. They still had their blasters trained on something near the ceiling, and Cody (Had he always been here?) had his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Warm through the gloves. Alive. 

  
Obi-Wan tilted his head and met the curious, blue-eyed gaze of a humanoid tucked up in the racks of _The Flyaway_ ’s storage room. Someone had lit a flare, and the red-orange light didn’t reveal anything malicious. No attack. He felt his lightsaber retract, barely registering that he’d flicked the switch. As if he had stepped from a shouting crowd into a soundproofed room, his head rang with the silence of the Force. There was no push or hint as to what came next. No distant whispers from emotions trailing out across the universe.   
Nothing. 

His chest ached, his mind touching no one, disconnected like he was the last living soul in the universe despite the evidence his eyes gave him. 

The clones and the humanoid appeared to be in some sort of hand-waving argument, Basic only serving to confuse it more. Adolescent, if they aged at the same rate as a human. The men finally got him to crawl out of the storage pod he’d wedged himself into, and his gangling limbs spoke ‘teenager’ even more clearly. 

Cody felt empty beside him, and Obi-Wan shivered, loosening the tight hold on himself. The sucking cold had vanished, and something inside him sagged with relief to feel the minds and emotions of the men around him. The slowly building hum of the universe returning. 

He would have scolded himself for overreacting, for shutting down that hard. Nothing terrible had happened. No legendary force-monster descended to attack him on sight. The men seemed unchanged - except for Cody’s sharp worry. He offered a questioning tilt of his head, and Cody shook his own helmet minutely, shoulder twitching toward the teenager and the two clones shooing him out toward the hanger. 

The teen complained about something, the tone of indignant whining unmistakable in any language. However, he didn’t resist the armored men bumping him along in little nudges and good-natured cajoling. 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to ask, but Captain Cody beat him to it. 

“You froze, sir. The men said the two of you were staring each other down. You wouldn’t respond, so I came in with the backup team.” 

Obi-Wan swallowed, the aches in his tense muscles suddenly making more sense. 

“How long-” 

“Nearly three minutes, sir.” 

It only felt like a few seconds. 

Cody shifted, his broadcasted emotions rippling with discomfort. 

“You stopped breathing, Sir.” 

“Ah.” Obi-Wan turned away from the open hatch, facing Cody directly. His mind was still in shambles, concentration skittering from one point to another. He needed to meditate, badly. 

“Sir?”

“Did the men mention feeling...anything strange?" He expected the Captain to assure him it was a Jedi thing. A Force thing. That Obi-Wan had gotten himself high-strung over a stowaway and mistaken identities.

Instead, Cody nodded. 

"Fear, sir. All of them reported an unnatural dread, and cold that wasn't stopped by our armor's seal." Cody nodded toward the open hatch, and the _Negotiator_ beyond. "It stopped when they made him laugh." 


End file.
